


Teen Wolf Season 7

by SneakyWhale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Gen, Hurt Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Hurt Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), darkscott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyWhale/pseuds/SneakyWhale
Summary: When Beacon Hills is captivated by one dubious suicide after another, Scott does everything to find out what's causing all of it.Over their years at uni, Stiles, Scott and Lydia have slowly drifted apart. Stiles and Lydia have broken up and Scott has gone completely M.I.A.. But when Stiles and Lydia face their own problems, they find themselves back where it all began. Eventually, the three manage to work together again, but their friendship is not what it used to be. Lydia has been running from her abilities, whilst Stiles has gotten himself into trouble with no one around to help him. However, to figure out whats happening in Beacon Hills, the pack needs to come together. They pick up a new face along the way, Helia, who is running from another pack that calls themselves: "the collectors".Scott faces his biggest challenge yet, as his memory slowly deteriorates, and he is charged for the murder of Timothy Reyes.Stiles, who is resentful towards Scott for numerous reasons, still helps Scott regain his memory, but finds out more than what he bargained for.THIS. IS. THE. ULTIMATE. SCILES. STORY. YOU. WERE. WAITING. FOR. Slow updates though.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar/Scott McCall, Melissa McCall & Scott McCall, Scott McCall & Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & The McCall Pack, Scott McCall & The Pack, Scott mccall & eichen house
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Teaser:

The fire erupted in vicious blasts, swallowing the air and emitting a deceivingly warm light. Thrown backwards, Scott fell, his clothes smouldering.

A loud acute beeping noise distorted his senses, as he scrambled for the grass underneath his hands, desperately trying to pull himself back up. Shrill sounds somehow reached him, albeit muted, whilst he saw what was left. Seemingly in a trance of pure despair, he watched the flames consume all that was dear to him.

In what seemed like a different life, he stumbled to his feet, and simply walked away. The warmth of the fire slowly pulling away from his back, making way for a slight late-summer breeze in the night.

After some time, hours or minutes, he stood before the house that once was his home and unlocked the door. It was as if nothing had changed. The dishes were still in the sink, waiting to be washed up. The fridge was still buzzing lightly, like it always had. Even the old dent on the foot of the stairs felt familiar underneath his left foot. Scott held his breath, dismissing a familiar scent. Unknowingly, as if in a dull haze, he walked to his old bedroom. The door softly thudded against the wall as he opened it. He looked around, omitting the pictures on the wall. The curtains fluttered slightly, caused by slight breeze entering the room. Everything seemed so deceivingly peaceful, as if the world didn't want to acknowledge the pure horrors it housed. 

Scott's hands absentmindedly reached for the small drawer next to his bed, only to pull out an old pair of grey socks. As he unraveled the ragged fabric, a small bottle appeared. It was filled with a clear yellow substance which reflected like gold in the dim moonlight. Moments later, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and automatically called Stiles. It rang for what seemed like an eternity, disturbing the eerie silence one agonizingly slow beep at a time, before Stiles's voice haunted the room. 

"Hey, this is Stiles and you missed me. Leave a message." Once more a loud, but this time more high-pitched, noise echoed through the room. A heavy silence fell, and the atmosphere seemingly thickened until eventually the device shattered and the pieces fell onto the floor like breadcrumbs.


	2. Old Habits Die Hard

Lydia

Perfectly manicured fingernails tapped impatiently on the steering wheel of a blue streak Toyota Prius C as it moved unbearably slow in this Friday night's traffic jam. When Lydia realized her bladder wouldn't be able to hold the large black coffee she had earlier, she groaned in frustration, and decided to take the next exit in need for a bathroom break. A huge accident two miles ahead had delayed her return home by at least another two hours, and instead of getting even more annoyed by the black jeep that apparently didn't know the function of their blinkers, she might as well just take a break and grab another coffee. It was truly needed since the hangover from last nights's party was still very much prominent, and the painkillers seemingly refused to kick in. Next to that, her nap during the flight from Boston to her aunt, hadn't had the desired effect either.

Once she'd parked her car and gotten out, she quickly called her mom, letting her know that she wouldn't be in time for dinner. She said goodbyes and hung up whilst entering the gas station. It was nearly vacant apart from the server standing behind the till, and an old man scouring an aisle for his preferred pack of cigarettes. A quick visit to the bathroom later, she stood before the coffee machine, rubbing her temples and enjoying the smell as the machine buzzed and dispersed the hot beverage. She took her drink to a table next to the window, sipped it, slightly burning her tongue in the process. As the burning sensation crept in, a strange feeling dawned upon her. Something she hadn't experienced this vibrantly in the last few years. Trying her best to ignore it, she pulled out a small book in which she had started reading earlier this week. Just concentrate on something else, Lydia, you anticipated this, she told herself. However, instead of distracting her, a strange smell reached her nostrils. She frowned and carefully held the book closer to her nose, which was now starting to fume. It smelled like it was actually on fire, which caused her to promptly drop it on the table. Lydia's heartbeat quickened. Hoping to calm herself and concentrate, she clenched her teeth, and shut her eyes tightly. Finally, the ominous feeling seemed to ebb away. A sigh of relief made it's way out and her eyes opened.

Cautiously, she picked up the book once more, only to be completely startled by what she saw. The usual intricate sentences were still there, but the pages began to smoulder, as if someone was holding a lighted match underneath them. The letters were slowly consumed by bright but tiny orange rings of flames, leaving the paper blacked and fragile. Panic-stricken, she quickly closed the book, and screwed her eyes shut again. She took a few deep breaths, only to then open it once more, and realize the pages were back to their original immaculate state. Shocked by the intensity of the situation, she quickly closed the book, and shoved it back into her Prada handbag.

Self-conscious, her eyes shot through the room, wondering if anyone had been paying attention to her weird behavior. It was then that she noticed someone else had entered the store. A small figure, dressed in a worn-down black hoodie, a backpack and a pair of blue jeans with a suspicious stain on the left leg, stood somewhat crouched behind a rack of cheap knock-off sunglasses . Lydia frowned, noticing the nervous behavior of the hooded person.

Suddenly, the curious figure sprinted outside. The employe instantly caught on with the situation and frantically shouted at the thief. Unable to leave his register, he looked around for help. With the old man gone, his eyes immediately landed on the stressed out strawberry blonde banshee.  
"Alright, what did they take?", Lydia huffed, after taking a moment to calm down.   
"Not much. Some sandwiches and a few water bottles, I think. But still, my boss is going to be pissed when he finds out. I better call the cops."  
Lydia sighed and pulled out her wallet.   
"Here, this should cover it", she said before handing him a twenty dollar-bill.

However, even hours later, the situation still occupied her thoughts, as she pulled up in front of her old home house. With the sound of her heels echoing through the street, she took in the familiar environment. Her senses were heightened. The leaves of the trees gently rustled, creating an alluring sound together with an owl which was hooting away in the distance. It was only then that she truly realized how much she had actually missed this place.   
In deep thought, she pulled out her keys and started fumbling with them in order to find the one she hadn't used in so long. Just as she was about to slide the key into the hole, the door enthusiastically flew open and her mom quickly engulfed her in a well needed embrace. 

"Oh Lydia, honey, I'm so glad to see you! Please don't ever wait this long to come home again!", her mom huffed against Lydia's shoulder. "Hi mom! I'm happy to see you too!"

Hours later, after a much needed talk and lots of tea, Natalie kissed her daughter goodnight and left her curled up on the couch. Lydia was zapping away, searching in vain for a good show or movie to watch, before going to bed herself, when she heard a faint knock on the door. Curious, but apprehensive she slowly made her way to the door. From her experience, a knock on the door this late was never good. A slightly more loud and frantic knock diminished her hopes of having simply imagined it. She sighed, pulled herself together, and carefully opened the door. A frown immediately crept on her face as Sheriff Stilinski appeared in the doorway wearing his usual uniform and serious expression.

"Hello Lydia, sorry for disturbing your peaceful visit so soon but.. we need to talk."


	3. Deja Vu

Lydia

Lydia huffed. "Well, it's not like I was hoping for a normal evening in this town anyway, so what's up?", she spoke whilst walking back towards the couch and gesturing him to follow her.

"I really could use your help on a few cases I've been working on... that is, if you want to, of course." He looked at her with tired eyes. This must've seriously been eating away at him, since exploring the supernatural has always been a last resort.

"Sure, what's up?" Reluctance quite clear in her voice, as she gracefully picked up her glass of red wine once more.

He sighed hesitantly, pulled out a thick folder from his old and battered case, and laid out its contents on the small glass table in front of them. He dove right in. 

"In the last couple of months, there have been a concerning amount of deaths in Beacon Hills. All supposedly suicides. They all look like simple open-and-shut-cases. However, the circumstances made me skeptical, to say the least. None of these people have a history of mental illness, nor were they in particularly bad situations before their death. Statements of family and friends all gave a similar outcome. They all thought that the victims were acting strange during the weeks or days prior, but none of them saw it coming." He stated in a monotone manner, as if he was explaining the cases for the hundredth time. 

A frown crept upon Lydia's forehead, as she stared at the horrifying pictures one by one. There had to be at least twenty cases laying in front of her, all different ages. Some had hung themselves, a few overdosed (or used some kind of poison), jumped off of buildings and cliffs, others had shot themselves or slit their own wrists or throats and so on. Her eyes lingered over a young girl, who died in a bath after having electrocuted herself. She felt her throat tightening. Stilinski looked at her closely, seemingly hoping for something.

"You think these were murders?"

"Maybe, but there's no evidence to support that theory at all." He rubbed his temples. "No fingerprints, or signs of forced entry, no suspects. We caught one suicide on a security camera, though, but that doesn't tell us much either, except for one thing." He pulled out his laptop and opened the video with the camera footage. Unsure of what the consequences of seeing this would be, Lydia bit her lip before inhaling deeply. She nodded, and the Sheriff pressed play.

The footage, although poor quality, showed a vacant rooftop. Moments later, a middle-aged man in a black work uniform appeared into view. He seemed extremely distraught, and was panicking franticly. He paced back and forth, muttering incomprehensible and incoherent sentences. Until finally, he spoke up louder. "She's dead, and... and it's my fault. How could I be so stupid?!" He cried out whilst hitting his head with the palms of his hands, and pacing even more anxiously. A few loud sobs escaped his mouth, as he started pulling on his hair in sheer hysteria. This kept on going for a few minutes, until he abruptly stopped dead in his tracks, and slowly turned to his side as if in a trance. Mere seconds pass, but they seemed unbearably long building up the inevitable. Slowly he started moving. Step by step, until he was full on sprinting. When he reached the safety rail, he grabbed it tightly, no hesitation, and launched himself into the air, no doubt falling to his death.

One thing was certain, he saw something.

"Did you find out who he was talking about?", Lydia asked sharply.

"We asked around, but according to his wife, no one even remotely close to him had passed away around that time.... We thought it might just be a hallucination, but no drugs were found in his system."

"Well, it definitely sounds like it could be supernatural", Lydia sighed. A short pause followed, as she pouted her lips. "So.. what does Stiles make of all of this?" She questioned with obvious underlying pretense. The sheriff looked at her as if had somewhat expected the inquiry about his son. "I..uhm," he exhaled loudly, "I haven't told him about any of this yet...He has had it quite rough for the past few months, and I didn't want to add more onto his plate...And I would appreciate it, if you didn't tell him either." He said whilst giving her a hopeful look. Lydia nodded, even though a bunch of questions popped up in her head, she restrained herself. Her mind wandered back to the suicides.

"So what? You want me to take a look a the bodies and see where to go from there?", she asked as if it was a routine procedure, but somehow a hint of excitement came through.

"I would, but there's something else you need to know."

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for what he was about to reveal next.

"Someone has been stealing the bodies, and it's not Parrish."


	4. Headlights

Lia

She ran. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, dismissing the physical restraints of her body. Branches left numerous marks as she sprinted through the forest whilst using the position of a tiny handful of visible stars which laced the sky in an attempt to navigate. After what felt like ten minutes, she abruptly stopped and concentrated on the sounds around her, holding her breath and tuning out the noise of her own heartbeat thumping at an alarmingly high rate. It was silent, but it was a strange and dense silence, like the one you feel when you see a plane that's about to crash. No owls, no insect noises, nothing... A moment passed, making her believe it was just her imagination. She turned around again with the intention to keep going. 

Suddenly, an intensely loud and high pitched howl cut through the forest. Her eyes widened and before she knew it, she was franticly sprinting again as if her life depended on it. And it did. Her legs kept moving her forward until she heard the sound of water streaming nearby. Soon, a small creek appeared in deep valley before her. It would be an idyllic scene if you left out the part where she was being chased by an actual pack of werewolves. She quickly crouched to the forest floor and started descending carefully towards the water. There wasn't much to hold on to except for a few rocks which were widely scattered around and covered in slippery moss, causing her to slip and fall into the water. In an attempt to get rid of her scent, she hastily submerged herself in the river, washed away the dried up blood and covered herself in mud, before running further downstream. 

After what seemed about an hour, exhaustion started to occupy her body as the adrenaline subsided, forcing Lia to slow down to catch a breath. Keeping a steady pace as she walked further and further away from the horrors that had captivated her life for the past two months. It was only then that grasped the fact that she was actually free. She admired the moment, the sky above her and the soft and fresh scent of summer which lingered in her nostrils. The slight breeze giving her goosebumps, the soothing sound of the nature at night, even the damn mosquitos biting her, she cherished all of it. And even if they'd capture her again, at least she had had this moment. One no one could ever take from her. With that in mind, she kept moving. 

The sun emitted a dim light as it started to journey towards the sky, coloring it with the most mesmerizing pink and orange shades Lia had seen in a long time. Her body was aching tremendously, forcing her to stop and catch a breath more often. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. A small open space came into sight between the densely grown vegetation, marking the spot where a big old tree had once flourished. All that was left of it now was its stump with its deeply embedded roots. Unaware of its meaning, let alone its power, Lia sat on it in an attempt to let her sore legs rest for a moment. Her eyes scattered the sky, now reliant on the sun to navigate her way through this. She hadn't heard wolves howling for at least four hours, so she figured they might've lost her scent. They'd find her eventually, though. It was only a matter of time, which is exactly why she had to get to Beacon Hills as fast as possible. More specifically Eichen House. 

A few days ago she had heard the pack argue during a meeting. They were discussing the fact that one of them had been behaving very strangely the days prior and that he was starting to become a danger to the pack, but mostly to himself. They were contemplating on what to do with him. One jokingly suggested to drop him off at Eichen House to which Marshall, the alpha, replied that he'd rather let the guy die. Instead they decided on throwing him into one of their high security cells, until he got better. She quickly figured out that if he'd rather lose a packmember than go to Eichen House, that that could possibly be the safest place to go to. The woman in the cell next to her had explained that Eichen House was a mental hospital located in Beacon Hills, and that they were notorious for their "Closed Unit" in which they apparently housed all kinds of supernatural creatures, experimenting on them. Lia learned that the whole building had been designed to contain the supernatural, causing her to suspect that they wouldn't try to come and get her there if they wouldn't be able to get out again. Going there, although she certainly wasn't looking forward to it, was her best option right now.

So when the nagging ache had subsided ever so slightly, Lia jumped off the log and picked up her journey once more. Finally, about half an hour later, city lights came in to view. She ran towards them until she reached the edge of the precipice, giving her the most gorgeous overview of the city. Her gaze lingered for quite sometime, before realizing she had to get rid of it first. Her hand reached towards the left back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small vial. She contemplated her decision for a while, but she had made up her mind. With trembling fingers, she hastily screwed off the cap and poured out its contents beneath her before she could change her mind. She threw the vial itself as far away as she could and it felt... liberating to say the least. 

The only thing left to do now was to find a way to get into Eichen. She thought about it for a moment, before turning around and numbly following a small path which eventually led her to a relatively busy road. She had a plan for that too, but it was downright outrageous. 

Whilst keeping herself somewhat hidden, she observed the cars passing by. She estimated the speed limit to be 45 mph, however further down there seemed to be a few treacherous turns where they'd naturally have to slow down. Her tired legs brought her to one of those turns, even though her mind hadn't quite grasped the concept of what she was about to do just yet. With her heartbeat thumping loudly in her tightening throat, she waited behind a large rock until the soft sound of a car engine approached. Based on the noise and the distance, she started counting. In her head the mere seconds somehow felt like hours. The noise became gradually louder, and louder, causing an intense amount of trepidation to build in the pit of her stomach. 

"NOW!", she screamed out loud. Her breathing faltered once more as she jumped onto the road. The last thing she could see were the two painfully bright headlights before a colossal force threw her tiny frame into thin air and her consciousness was welcomed into a gaping abyss.


	5. Red Eyes

Stiles

Slightly trembling fingers ghosted over numerous pictures and newspaper excerpts pinned to an old and stained wall, tracing imaginary connections and patterns. Stiles sighed in desperate frustration. With one brisk step, he turned around and angrily started tugging at his already chaotic-looking hair. Agitated and tired eyes locked with the bottle holding the auburn potion that would help him in a way no one else could, or would. He harshly swallowed, before getting a glass to pour himself a double one.  
Partially submitting to the ever-growing feeling of pure exhaustion, he sat down onto his messy bed and took a sip, whilst still exploring certain possibilities. The liquid happily leaving the usual burning sensation in his throat on its way down. 

Three refills later and frustration had leisurely progressed to boiling aggression whilst he paced relentlessly through his single dorm room. Abhorring the incessant discussion in his head, but unable to distract himself. Alcohol fueling wicked ideas, edging them to go beyond reality. Whispers of insanity latched themselves onto his brain.  
Posterior to contradicting yet another one of his intricate theories, he lost it, smashing the glass, holding his last drops of comfort, against the wall. Sending both his visualized and obscure thoughts and patterns to the ground. Incompetence chuckling in a vacant corner somewhere. 

Once again, he found himself onto his bed, gazing at the shatters of lunacy on the amber hardwood floor. Out of the blue, a faint rustling sound pierced the silence. Instantly, he cocked his head to the direction of the sudden noise, omitting the pounding of his own heart. Whilst questioning his debilitating mental state for imagining it, he kept listening. A negligible source was dismissed within seconds as the particular vibration re-emerged. Every sign of intoxication miraculously dissolved when a calm hand reached for the gun underneath his mattress, the cold metal stealing the warmth of his skin as it tightened around the material. 

Another re-occurrence had his adrenaline levels high enough for him to actually take a leap to the wall next to the window, whilst his heart thudded stridently into his ears. The anticipation built up, as he counted to three in an attempt to gather the necessary intrepidity.  
On his “three”, he darted upward in search for his target.  
Relief washed over him like a cold shower as Musafa, his favorite stray cat on campus meowed loudly, demanding treats. A harsh breath escaped him, anxiety releasing slightly as carbon dioxide left his body.  
“Seriously?!” Another shuddered exhale made him pause. “You have to stop doing this.”

A cat parting ways whilst purring in contempt, and bunch of deep and calming gulps of air and frustrated groans later, he started cleaning up his mess from before the stupid scare, clearly in deep thought. Just as he was washing the sticky alcohol infused substance from his palms, a short ping rang like a fire alarm through his eardrums, coming from his laptop. 

Whilst quickly and mindlessly drying them off, he rushed towards his laptop, to click on the new notification. It was displayed rather strangely. Not the usual pristine and advanced Apple display, but blank white typewriter text, seemingly with more numbers than necessary, against a plain dark grey background popped up onto his screen. Some hacking technology he found on deep web pages he should have never been browsing on in the first place, the usual. He and one of his more “nerdier” friends perfected it, to hack in to places that should’ve never been hackable in the first place. However, not all FBI cases were kept behind the typical unbreachable doors imbedded with their ever so striking emblem. Yet another lie portrayed by the movie industry. 

No, the less important ones, were kept on poorly secured computers in blandly furnished offices, with incapable and uninterested agents working on them. One of those happened to be the one that was a threat to his existence. And because of that exact reason he did not feel any guilt whatsoever, for tapping into a secured briefing about that very case. Of course, his incompetence of keeping his nose out of other people their cases and business was what had landed him in this situation in the first place. But then again, if they knew what he knew, they would’ve probably meddled too, at least that’s what he was telling himself. That and the fact that the guys working on it are complete and utter douchebags, so guilt wasn’t necessarily in the top three of emotions he was dealing with right now.

“Witness places M. Escobar in Campeche, Mexico.”  
The gears in his mind started spinning aggressively once more, as he read up on the details, instantly ordering his printer to make him a handheld cop of it, whilst absentmindedly rubbing a particular spot on his left knee. “Why Mexico?”, he debated out loud. Escobar had no relatives or friends there, which were mostly based somewhere in and around Seattle, nowhere near Mexico. So maybe the witnesses were wrong, het thought. That theory in itself was quite difficult to believe, since Escobar had a very distinct tattoo design on his face, confusing him with someone else was quite unlikely. 

He did not like to admit it, but given the current development of Escobar’s location, there was not much left for him to do here. It was completely implausible for the high-profile criminal to come back here after what he had done. Stiles believed that Escobar’s IQ was high enough for the him to realize that trying to come after a rookie like him again, would be impractical, to say the least, this was now confirmed with him going to Mexico.

A fresh amount of wry tension crept along his neck. If only he could prove that Escobar was not some naïve kingpin, but a distinguished human trafficker with a booming business, evidently though, his clean-up crew had a bigger pay-check than everyone working on his case. But, other than the occasional location pin, no new information had surfaced. That and he had submitted his last paper of the term two weeks ago. 

For months, he had been stalling it, with the obvious excuses that went something along the lines of “It’s not safe”, but going back to Beacon Hills wasn’t something he could keep postponing forever.


End file.
